


There is no running away

by Frenchibi



Series: Fics with Pain [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Coping, Depression, Gen, It Gets Better, Loss of Control, Pain, Pining, Self-Doubt, because I cannot help but be an eternally hopeful person, but it has hope, implied iwaoi, mentions of matsuhana - Freeform, this is not a happy fic, which might be unrequited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 22:38:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8031676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frenchibi/pseuds/Frenchibi
Summary: [Can you hear what I'm trying to say?
  
  Can you feel the fear that I'm feeling today?]





	There is no running away

**Author's Note:**

> [ _You're old enough to kill, but not for voting_ ]  
> [ _You don't believe in war, but that's a gun you're toting_ ]
> 
>  
> 
> _This whole crazy world, it just keeps going_  
>  _And you tell me over and over and over again, my friend -_  
>  _Oh, **you don't believe were on[the Eve of Destruction](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B4QzRZDcxXA)** , of destruction...?_

There are days when it gets too much.

Days when the smiles, the laughter, the makeup and hair products aren't enough to hide the sadness, the dark circles under his eyes, the fear in his mind, the darkness that's threatening to consume him. Days when his usual shields (that let him fool himself into believing he's strong, confident, even something that feels like _happy_ ) become too light, like paper against cannonfire, peeling away uselessly to show how broken he is underneath.  
Days when the world is so _heavy_ , pushing down onto him, onto his chest, his shoulders, his heart.  
Days when the injustice, the pain, the frustration of how small he is - how insignificant, how useless - is crushing.

He manages to get home before he breaks. He always does. Iwa-chan, and Mattsun, and Makki, they're enough to keep him together at school, so he can convincingly pull of _it's just not my day, don't worry_ until he's alone. They've been getting better at reading him, they know that he's hiding something, something darker, something heavier, and they want to help, but what's the use? If he'd let Iwa-chan come over like he'd offered, Tooru knows he wouldn't have broken in the first place. He'd have held on, maybe opened up about one of the thousands of things weighing on his heart - just enough to convince Iwa-chan (and himself) that he was going to be okay - and he'd have broken on another day.  
Tooru knows that it's inevitable, by now. It's not the first time, and it's always the same.

It starts with something tiny, something that doesn't _seem_ bad at all - maybe he hasn't been keeping up so well with math homework lately - and that one problem he couldn't solve, he still doesn't understand it after the teacher explains.  
Or maybe it's a passing comment by a classmate, something like "hey, Oikawa, you alright?" that makes him realize that _he's slipping_.  
Or it's seeing Mattsun and Makki with their hands casually linked as they stroll into the classroom, waving brightly at him, and something about the sight opens up a gigantic black hole in Tooru's stomach that swallows his usual happiness at seeing his friends right up.  
Or it's volleyball. Always, always volleyball, and a serve he _just_ can't get right, a jump that he lands _just_ south of comfortable, and a sharp sting in his knee reminds him that he's walking a very, very thin line.

And once it starts, it's impossible to escape the cycle.

The next thing that happens is the self-loathing. He realizes it's happening again, and it's like that fatal misstep that sends everything crumbling. It's "oh, this again? I should have fucking _known_."  
It's not the senseless self-hate that he used to have, blaming himself for everything, for not being stronger, faster, smarter, _better_. It's not directed at his own ridiculously high expectations, either - not really, not entirely. He's learned to be more realistic with what his goals are, where he plans to go, what he plans to do - they're high, yes, but not impossible.  
What he's mad at is the constant _regression_.

Logically, he should know that healing isn't linear. Nobody thinks that, not really. You don't hit your lowest point and then just climb back up, completely chipper and fine. It's tiny, tiny steps.  
Too tiny.  
Too slow.  
He should be _better_ by now.  
He should be _over this_.  
These minescule, meaningless moments should not be able to throw him all the way back down to ground zero. They _shouldn't_.

But they do.  
And that's what kills him.

What kills him is that once this happens, he's right back where he fucking started, shaking and crying for _no goddamn reason_ other than "I'm still broken," when all he wants is to fly.

He's meant to soar above the rest, he always has been.  
He used to be the brightest kid, the fastest learner, and fiercely passionate. Always the odd one out with the other kids because he had just a little too much enthusiasm, he was too eager to learn, too eager to please. He was _weird._  
But he didn't care, because he wasn't alone. He'd always had people who supported him - always at least one. And what the others said didn't matter, because he was going to prove them wrong.

And oh, he did, for a while. He soared. But, like Icarus with his wings made of wax, the fall was unavoidable.

Except that Tooru's wax wings were never a choice.  
His biggest weakness would always be himself.

His fall had been long and brutal, plagued by denial, by doubt, by _fear_.  
And then he'd gotten back up.

 _The worst is over._  
_So why do these days keep happening?_  
It's "I should have tried harder, studied longer, and I know I would have understood."  
It's "I should have been more careful, I can't let this slip, I can't make people worry again."  
It's "They're my _friends_ , and this, my jealousy, is petty and awful."

And from there, it spirals, and he falls. (Invariably, sure as the change in seasons, like clockwork.)  
Tooru knows that's how it goes.  
Better to just get it over with.

He arrives home to an empty house, and he could not be more grateful for that.  
If there's nobody here, it will be over fast. No questions asked, no worried glances or offers of help that he knows are meant well, but he feels like the compassion will suffocate him.

His mother would worry again, if she knew. She hadn't been able to be there for him the first time, and she's still blaming herself now. And every time he lets slip that he's not as happy as he seems, it feels like she dies a little on the inside. She doesn't deserve this. Her son should be happy, and okay, and healed. Like she wants him to be. Like she thinks he can't because she thinks she failed.  
It's not her fault. It's his own.  
He's small, pathetic, insignificant, weak.  
He goes through his life every day like he's fine, but there is no _fake it till you make it_. He's not fine.

_But I should be. I SHOULD be. I SHOULD BE._

He doesn't even make it to his room.

His bag drops to the floor with a loud thump, but the thud of his back against the door is far softer.  
He slides down until his knees hit his chest, and he's already sobbing.

The tears are heavy, thick and unapologetic like they always are. They feel gigantic against his skin, grief-stricken and awful as they shake his whole body. His fingers and feet are trembling so hard that his teeth start to chatter, and there's nothing he can do to stop this. He's powerless, as always.  
Even when he knows it's coming, it's still terrifying every single time.

There's nothing he can do but surrender, and he tips sideways until he's lying on the floor, the shoemat coarse and rough against his arm but he barely sees, he barely feels anything but the sobs that are choking him.

And he doesn't even really know why, this time.  
Yes, same as always, because he's so small. Pathetic. Insignificant. _Weak_.  
But why _now_? There was no trigger this time. It just _happened_.  
He can always feel it happening, but usually he knows why.

 _I should know why_.

 _I should be better than this_.

_Should, Should, Should._

The word loses meaning, and the sobs fade away until it's just him, broken, lying on the floor.  
He doesn't move - he doesn't think he can. Not yet. He's empty, and he feels drained, but it might not be over. If he tries to move and doesn't have his limbs back, he knows he'll just start bawling again.  
So he doesn't.  
He doesn't.

Until he does.  
Until the relief of having let it all out comes rushing in, and it's the most welcome feeling.  
Because yes, he's broken, but it's over now. After only a few minutes, half an hour, tops.  
It used to take him hours, days, weeks.  
With the years, he's grown better at coping.

And it sinks in. Yeah, this sucks, lying on the floor and crying uncontrollably - but he's come out of _so much worse_.

He shudders involuntarily when he remembers, and finds that he can feel his limbs again. They're weak, like he'd just ran a marathon, but they're back.  
Slowly, slowly, he pushes himself back up against the door, stretches out his legs, and lets out a deep breath.

He counts to five, breathes in again, continues to ten and exhales. And repeat.

One, two, three, four, five - inhale - six, seven, eight, nine, ten - exhale.

It helps.  
He remembers the first time someone taught him this trick, and not believing it.  
But it works now. It's in the mindset. It works, because he needs it to. Because he wants it to. He's taking back control.

He must spend at least five minutes staring apathetically at one spot on the floor before he manages to draw his knees back up to his chest. He turns his head and sees that his bag has tipped over (or maybe it just landed that way when he dropped it?) and some of his books and pens have slid out. His alien-shaped eraser has rolled over to his left foot and is gazing up at him, black eyes surrounded by neon green skin.

Tooru breathes again, but it's shaky - and then he's laughing.

Because _look at how pathetic I'm being, all over again. Look at me, on the fucking FLOOR, crying again like I haven't learned my lesson_.  
But it's not frustrating anymore.  
It happened. Chances are, it's gonna happen again.  
But he got out of it, didn't he? And he can do it again.

It still sucks balls that he can't control this, it still sucks that apparently now he doesn't even need triggers anymore, the sadness just comes and covers everything until it overflows, tearing everything down he's so carefully built up-  
Not everything.  
_No, not everything,_ Tooru realizes as he reaches up, grabs the handle of the door and hoists himself up without his knees giving way. He's standing. He's okay.

 _Not everything. Because I_ have _healed. A little._  
Fake it till you make it, huh? That's fair, probably. He doesn't see any other way. And who knows? Maybe one day he will make it. Maybe one day, one of these episodes will be the last.  
Tooru likes that thought.  
And it's enough.

He huffs out the last of his laughter and drags his sleeve over his face. He needs to get some cold water, unless he wants to be all blotchy by the time someone gets home or Iwa-chan checks in on him. He usually does, on days like these. Maybe he really just has a sixth sense for these things. It's one of the reasons Tooru-  
But that doesn't matter, not now. He's not going to fall again. Not today.

He picks up his bag and slips out of his shoes, pushing them out of the way so his mother won't trip over them later.  
He lets himself just stand for a moment, heavy sigh falling from his lips as the weight he's so accustomed to settles back over him.  
That's life, for you. It's heavy in its own right, and sometimes it gets overwhelming.  
But he's caught himself now.  
He'll be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> On 360 days of the year I'm fine, I'm happy, I'm balanced.  
> And then there's days like today, when everything falls.
> 
> I know I'll be okay, and back to fluffy and happy fics soon. Just... life is stressful and hard sometimes, and on those days I can't make it pretty and carefree, or angsty in a cute way.  
> ...maybe this fic got a little too real, a little too personal. I'm sorry, I don't mean to make anyone uncomfortable or worried. Like Oikawa, I'm very persistent, and I have years of experience.
> 
> Expect more content from me in the future, once I pass this hellish exam that is royally kicking my ass and messing with my perception of time and reality.
> 
> Until then, you know where to find me.


End file.
